Of course, you probably didn’t know that was happening because, hey, you’ve been living under a rock. But we here at Mets Central are going to drag you out of the dark and into the glory that is our 2014 team. We have scrapped and scraped and pitched our way to a 15-12 record while you sat on your hands in a nice, warm living room where we can’t hear you.

That’s exactly why we had Cleon Jones, Jerry Koosman, Ed Charles, Keith Hernandez, Ron Darling and Doc Gooden send you that little missive that has become known as “The Loyalty Letter.” We need you out at Citi Field, cheering your hearts out and spending your, er, cheering your voices hoarse so Terry Collins’ gang has the same chance to win a championship as the undersigned did in 1969 and 1986.

You see, all you chowderheads, it’s not what happens on the field that counts. It’s what happens in the stands. No noise equals no wins. Lord knows we don’t know how we got this far playing to half and three-quarter houses. We can’t understand how you ninnies can stay home while our second-place lineup is obliterating people with that .220 batting average. Maybe you’re believing those big, bad media people who inaccurately point out that our team average ranks 28th in the league, and that our 17 homers rank 27th. Maybe you’re believing all the nonsense about doing all this through the rotation which, given its overall youth, could collapse at any time.

You know the saying: “There are three types of falsehoods: lies, damned lies and statistics.”

Well, here’s a stat for your guys. THREE! Three games over .500. We’re sailing here, and we’re going to steer the Good Ship Collins right through Sandy Alderson’s 90-win barrier. But darned if we’re going to do that with an empty home field.

We need your wallets, er, voices. There’s a whole bunch of restaurants on our outfield pavilion ready to keep you guys stoked and full with their overpri…, affordable fare that, by the way, is heart healthy. Remember, the more Shake Shack burgers you eat, the more loyal you sound.

We shouldn’t have to tell you this. Heaven knows, they’re not sending these letters out in Toronto, where they have the greatest fans in the world. They’re not doing this in Wrigleyville or Fenway.

And guess what? The postal pickup truck isn’t exactly backing itself up at Yankee Stadium, either. Those are fans! They go nuts, whether they’ve got a playoff team to root for or not. Heck, two-fifths of their rotation doesn’t even come from the Western Hemisphere. But there they are, loyal as ever. Pinstripes, flags. Everywhere you look, you’d think they’d averaged a World Series win one out of every four years.

Nope. Just us. Because you people aren’t loyal enough, we had to drag Hernandez and Darling out of the TV booth to sign this thing. That wasn’t an easy task.

True New Yorkers know what we’re talking about. They’re the ones who show up in the subfreezing temps. We like them. You guys, not so much.

But you still have a chance to get back in our good graces. Sign this letter. Then, just before the Yanks hit Citi Field, we’ll run our fingers down the list of names and pick out one to hand over this little missive to the team. You might get to shake hands with Josh Satin, if he’s not in the starting lineup, or Ruben Tejada. We can make that happen for you.

But you gotta sign. And you gotta come out. Fred Wilpon needs a new pair of shoes. Make that happen for him.